“Spare the women!” shouted the French Captain above the din—and roar of battle. “Pillage; but spare the women!”
It was well that he had spoken, for his cut-throats were wild with the heat of battle. In twenty minutes the Kent was helpless; her crew were prisoners; and the saucy pennon of France fluttered where once had waved the proud ensign of Great Britain.
Surcouf was happy. Landing the English prisoners in an Arab vessel, he arrived at the Mauritius with his prize in November, and soon took his doughty Confiance to the low shores of France, catching a Portuguese merchant en route, and anchoring at La Rochelle, on April 13th, 1801.
Rich, famous, respected; he now married the good Mlle. Marie Blaize, and became the owner of privateers and a respected citizen of the Fatherland. Fortune had favored this brave fellow.
As a prosperous ship-owner and ship-builder of his native village—“the Sea-Hound of St. Malo”—closed his adventurous life in the year 1827. And when he quietly passed away, the good housewives used to mutter:
“Look you! Here was a man who fought the English as well as they themselves could fight. He was a true son of William the Conqueror. Look you! This was a King of the Ocean!”
And the gulls wheeled over the grave of the doughty sea-warrior, shrieking,
“He-did-it! He-did-it! He-did-it!”